Taking the Edge Off
by lousiemcdoogle
Summary: He slumped dramatically against the entrance door to shut it, but only silence greeted him as he glanced around the empty loft. Huh. Weird. "Kate? I'm home!" A first anniversary surprise. ThankYouTerri prompt fill. Oneshot. Complete and steamy.


"Beckett?"

He slumped dramatically against the entrance door to shut it, but only silence greeted him as he glanced around the empty loft.

Huh. Weird.

"Kate? I'm home!" he called a little louder, shucking his coat and hanging it up, toeing off his Italian leather dress shoes. He ran a hand through his hair.

What a day.

Still no response from Kate, but he didn't seek her out right away. If she was home – and he hoped to God she wasn't still at the precinct, given her 4am wake up call – she was probably passed out asleep.

He shuffled into the kitchen, pulled the leftover lasagne from the night before out of the fridge, and put it in the microwave. Pouring himself a glass of water, he drummed out an impatient beat on the countertop with his fingers while waiting for the food to heat up – but when it was ready he chose to eat standing.

He didn't want to sit down.

He didn't want stupid leftovers.

He hadn't wanted to be called into an 'emergency' meeting at Black Pawn late this afternoon, on his first wedding anniversary, when his wife had been called out to a gruesome 4am murder scene, and there had been no leads by the time he had left the precinct twelve hours later.

He wanted the day to have gone the way he had planned it: no body drop, no emergency meetings, just a quiet day of paperwork at the precinct. They would have skipped out dead on 5pm, giving them plenty of time to enjoy the simple pleasures of sharing a bath and getting ready together for their dinner reservation. He had planned to take her to a new jazz club afterward, where they would dance and simply enjoy one another until she would whisper in his ear that she was ready to home. They would have made out in the cab like a couple of teenagers, and, once upstairs, he'd have made love to her until they both saw stars.

Instead, he had a quiet loft and lukewarm lasagne.

He rinsed off his plate and left it in the sink to deal with in the morning, anxious to curl up with his beautiful wife and have this day over with. He pulled off his socks as he passed the laundry, throwing them in the general direction of the machine. Alexis or Kate were going to yell at him for that move tomorrow, but, right now, he didn't care. Turning off the lights on the way, he undid his cuffs as he walked, and was just reaching for the top button of his shirt as he entered the bedroom.

And stopped short.

The first thing he saw were the red stiletto heels, the spike of which had to be six inches, and matching red toenails peeping through black fishnet stockings.

And legs. Miles and miles of legs, interrupted only by the diamond-shaped knit of the stockings, the tease of the suspenders framing her thighs.

His wife was leaning back casually on the bed, resting on her elbows and watching him through hooded eyes. Only, to get his gaze to meet her face, it meant he had to stop staring at the intricate black and red corset that accentuated her hips, cinched her waist, and pushed her delectable breasts up until they were spilling out over the top.

She wore fingerless gloves made of black leather with large buckles that were anything but innocent. Dark, smokey makeup framed her eyes, and her lips were a full, rich red. As for her hair – it was curled and tousled, edgy and untamed.

And his dress pants were suddenly about three sizes too small.

"Ah, Ricky, you are here," she purred as she perused him lazily, her words coming out in a throaty Russian accent that he had only heard once before while awake – but had starred in his wet dreams for weeks.

He gulped, his throat dry and his brain completely unable to form any coherent word-things.

"Katya does not like to be kept waiting. I think this means you should be punished, no?"

She raised one imperious eyebrow, her lithe body unfolding like a cat as she rose to her feet.

He had a feeling his mouth was hanging open, and he was pretty sure that his eyes would fall out if they got any wider – yet he was powerless to do anything about either.

Her voice took on a commanding tone, steel lined with velvet. "Close the door, Richard."

He fumbled blindly behind him for the door – it was further away than he remembered it being, and there was no way he was looking at anything so mundane when his wife was dressed like this in their bedroom.

"I see the cat has got your tongue. Perhaps it is as well," she said, stalking toward him.

She pressed one finger to the center of his chest, pushing him backward until he slammed against the solid surface behind him. Crowding into his personal space, she pressed her body to his, the stiff material of the corset rubbing against the thin fabric of his shirt.

Already hard, desperate for friction, he swept his pelvis against hers, nudging at the cradle of her hip.

"Katya plans to do some very naughty things to you tonight, Ricky. But I am worried you are not going to last. Perhaps we should take the edge off, no?" she murmured in his ear.

He felt his hips jerk into hers before he could stop them.

"Take the edge off...? Yes. I think – that might be good?"

He hated himself for the way his voice cracked. He really wasn't sure what role she wanted him to play.

He was so turned on by the way she was surrounding him, it was almost painful.

She drew back far enough to look him in the eye and raise an eyebrow once more – this time seeking his permission. He gave the smallest of nods. He trusted Kate, trusted that she knew what she was doing, and he really wanted to see how this played out.

He didn't have to wait long.

Before he knew what was happening she had seized both his hands and placed them firmly on her breasts, forcing him to cup her mounds – not that he minded. Then, with a flick of her wrist at his belt, her hand was down his pants, wrapping firmly around the hard, thick length of his cock.

His knees nearly gave way.

She gave one slow, experimental slide of her palm, drawing down all the remaining blood from his brain. She met his eye, a wicked smile playing on her lips. "It will not take long to take the edge off, I think," she stated, then began pumping her hand, the pad of her thumb caressing the tip of him.

Oh, God.

His fingers picked up her rhythm almost immediately, squeezing her breasts in time with her ministrations.

She slid one hand down to cup his balls, increasing pressure on his shaft just slightly.

"Kate," he gasped in warning, the precipice rushing toward him.

She leaned forward, pressing more of herself into him as her lips grazed his ear. "Tonight it is Katya, Ricky. Do not worry about letting go. It will not end the festivities of this evening."

Her hands had not stopped, and the tickle of her voice at his ear was enough to send him over the edge. His eyes slipped shut, his head fell backward, and pleasure ripped through him as his hips jerked again and again and again, spilling into his dress pants.

She withdrew her hand once he stilled, and wiped it on his shirt. Turning away, she sauntered over to the bed and resumed her earlier position, reclining in a nonchalant fashion

He felt her eyes on him, his body still boneless and dopey, sagging against the bedroom door, but she said nothing until he was able to make eye contact.

"Get those clothes off, Ricky. You have a long night ahead of you. Katya will make sure of that."

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**Prompt: "First Anniversary Kate roles plays Russian Beckett for Castle" – submitted by Hope ( tshlw). Filled as a gift to katicings for a generous contribution to YoungStoryTellers dot com slash ThankYouTerri. See all the prompts and fills at ThankYouTerri dot tumblr dot com. **


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